


you had me at merlot

by ryomakun



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Youtubers, Bad Jokes, Bad Puns, Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, Mostly made by Keith, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, once again keith has shitty alcohol tolerance sorry keith, please suspend ur disbelief re: stella rosa's potency lmao, what is conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-31 14:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8581786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryomakun/pseuds/ryomakun
Summary: “Oh my God,” Lance says as he covers his face. Keith’s tinny voice blares from his laptop speakers: “What do you call a fake noodle? An impasta.” See, this joke might have been funny if someone charismatic and charming had said it, but Keith’s flat voice and even flatter expression effectively kidnaps, tortures, and then decapitates any chance of it being remotely humorous. --Keith accidentally starts a YouTube channel. Lance, of course, refuses to be left out. It goes about as well as you'd expect. (Ft. copious amounts of wine and a truly shameless number of references to MyDrunkKitchen, DailyGrace, and general pop culture)





	1. the grape depression

As a general rule, Keith doesn’t drink whenever there are cameras around. After the Jungle Juice Incident freshman year of college, he just isn’t willing to risk any potentially embarrassing videos slash pictures of him completely shitfaced and dropping awful pick-up lines on the hot Geology 100 TA. This, however, apparently only applies when someone _else_ is recording and/or taking pictures.

Downing two and a half glasses of wine and then recording himself while he cooks _apparently_ falls neatly in line with Keith’s list of Things That Are Acceptable To Do (But Only When Pidge Isn’t Around). Keith leans so close to the camera that his breath fogs up the lens. He squints blearily.

“Do you know what I crave when I’m drunk? Kimchi. And spaghetti,” he says, stumbling a little over ‘spaghetti.’ Now, normally, the drunker a person gets, the less inhibited they become. Not the case with Keith Gyeong. No--just like with everything else in his life, Keith possesses so much self-control he’d make even the most enlightened monk weep in envy, perhaps developed as a counter-balance to his frankly embarrassing social skills.

The only thing that changes really is his bullshitting, his tendency to drop things, and his progressively awful attempt at jokes.

“Oh my God,” Lance says as he covers his face. Keith’s tinny voice blares from his laptop speakers: “What do you call a fake noodle? An impasta.” See, this joke might have been funny if someone charismatic and charming had said it, but Keith’s flat voice and even flatter expression effectively kidnaps, tortures, and then decapitates any chance of it being remotely humorous.

“Oh my God,” Hunk crows delightedly. Clearly, he and Lance do not share the same opinion because he’s doubled over in laughter. “Oh my _God_.”

“I can’t believe he posted this,” Lance says. “I can’t fucking believe it has _forty thousand views_. It hasn’t even been up for a full 24 hours! What the fuck!” Lance’s been vlogging for over a year now and his most viewed video is only at 2,000. It isn’t even one of the videos he put effort into--it's just a slow-mo of Shiro running away from a puppy and screaming in terror.

“Full offense, but no one cares about your shitty vlogs, Lance, they’re boring,” Pidge says from Hunk’s bed, tinkering with some doo-hickey for their robotics class, looking like the pretentious hipster they are.

“I don’t _just_ do vlogs--”

“No one cares about your shitty haul videos, either.” Pidge looks up, just asking to be punched in the face. They smile. Lance chucks Hunk’s calc book at them.

“Does Keith even know he posted this? Because I’m pretty sure he edited this while he was still shitfaced,” Hunk says. He scrolls through the comments and likes every single one of them. On cue, Lance’s, Hunk’s, and Pidge’s phones simultaneously ding.

 _what did i do_ , reads Keith’s text.

Hunk actually falls out of his chair laughing.

 

\--

 

Sometimes, Lance actually pities Keith for his tendency toward immediate popularity. Sure, the guy has a nice face and a great ass… _ass_ essment of his own limitations (shut up), but he’s such an introvert that all the attention shuts down, like, 80% of his mental facilities. _This_ is not one of those times.

“I cannot _believe_!” Lance gripes and stabs his plastic spoon in Keith’s direction. A few droplets of frozen yogurt land on Keith’s face, which Keith delicately wipes away. “You literally--you literally made the YouTube equivalent of a shitpost and it _worked_.”

After Pidge (unapologetically) complained about Lance’s “unendless bitching”, Hunk (apologetically) kicked Lance out because the both of them were huge nerds who had absolutely no sympathy. Lance immediately called Keith out, determined to fight him. Keith replied with an invitation to frozen yogurt, to which Lance reluctantly agreed. Frozen yogurt will do that to a man. The place in question is much too small and cute for Lance to properly seethe, unfortunately--Keith probably chose this place on purpose, the _nerve_.

“I need to delete it,” Keith says. On top of his tendency toward immediate popularity, Keith also has a tendency toward ignoring the shit that comes out of Lance’s mouth and deflecting the conversation to the topic of his choice. Which almost always works.

“What,” Lance sputters, “why would you take it down!” Case in point. Lance narrows his eyes at the slight smirk on Keith’s stupid mouth. Goddammit. _Keith: 2, Lance: 0._ (Actually, if he’s being honest, it’s probably more like _Keith: 43,756 views, Lance: 0.)_

“Because I’m drunk on camera? And I’m _cooking_?” Keith raises his eyebrows, like the point has not only flown over Lance’s head, but also used Lance’s head as a springboard. It is a Look that Lance is quite familiar with.

“So?” 40,000 views is more than Lance has on his entire channel. And he has 30 videos posted. Unbelieveable.     

“S _o_ when the NASA recruiter Googles Keith Gyeong, the first thing that’s going to pop up is that stupid video.” Keith’s voice is so dry, Lance wonders if Keith’s body even retains water. “No way in hell I’m gonna get hired.”

Lance scoffs. “You don’t know that. Don’t underestimate the power of internet fame. And anyway, even if you do delete it, the internet is forever. I saw like, three re-uploads already in my suggestions feed.”

Keith just sighs.

“Why’d you do that anyway,” Lance mumbles. He rests his elbow on the table, his chin on his hand, and stirs his rapidly melting yogurt. His cookie bites are getting soggy. “YouTube was _my_ thing.” It’s Lance’s turn to sigh.

“I just. You know.” Lance glances up to see Keith shrug and look away. “Wanted to see what the big deal was about.” _His_ frozen yogurt remains untouched. What a waste. Lance reaches over and tugs the paper bowl towards himself and wrinkles his nose at the matcha green he sees.

“You gonna finish this?” he asks.

“You haven’t even finished yours,” Keith points out.

“I put too much chocolate syrup and my cookie bites are just mush now. And since when have you cared about trends?” Lance frowns at him. “The last popular thing you liked was Tamagotchi. You didn’t even try Pokemon Go, you heathen.”

“You don’t like matcha.” Keith tries to do that deflecting thing again, but Lance isn’t having it.

“I’m willing to make sacrifices for the little people,” Lance sniffs. Keith rolls his eyes at the subtle dig. They used to be the same height, but Lance shot up a three more inches in college and he is determined to lord that over Keith _forever_. Pidge tells him that his inferiority complex will be the end of him. Lance does not know what they are talking about.

“And don’t change the subject! Not only did you basically out yourself as a wine mom--”

Keith’s brow twitches, and he mouths _wine mom?_ to himself.

“--you also recorded yourself! And edited the footage! And! Posted it! Clearly you were not that far gone, if you managed to do that.”

Keith mumbles something that Lance strains to hear. “What?” Lance says.

“I _said_ , it wasn’t meant to be public,” Keith says, clearly exasperated.

“What the hell? Why would you even record it then?”

Keith’s expression immediately closes off. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to delete it anyway.” From Keith’s sudden prickliness, Lance knows he won’t get anywhere if he pushes at that particular point. And he’s mad at Keith, but he’s not _that_ mad. He’ll just find out later.

“Uh, no, you’re not deleting it.” Lance jabs his spoon at Keith again before he can interrupt. “Do you realize what you have here? No way in hell am I letting this be a one-hit wonder viral video.”

“What?” Keith asks warily, and again wipes yogurt from his face.

“Keith, my guy. This is like YouTube partner worthy. You could make _money_ off of this. NASA or whatever,” Lance waves his hand around, the one without the spoon to Keith’s relief, “that’s still a long way off. You still have to pay for grad school, and even with all your undergrad scholarships, you’ll still be in debt. And we all know how much you hate working in the lab.” Lance glances at him slyly. Keith looks torn between incredulous and intrigued. “You’re in charge of your own hours. You can drink on the job…”

To Lance’s delight, the intrigue wins out over the incredulity. This is still Keith, though, so Lance is prepared when he asks, “I thought YouTube was your thing? Why would you want me to exploit this even more?”

Lance grins, teeth bared, eyes gleaming. The slight panic on Keith’s face fuels him. “Well, I _am_ a YouTube expert, regardless of my subscriber count. You’ll need help to really get anywhere.”

“But--”

“And like you said, you’d be drunk while you cook, and you definitely need a supervisor for that. Don’t want any kitchen fires, am I right?” Lance briefly contemplates script-writing, but just as quickly dismisses it. As much as it hurts Lance’s ego to admit, drunk Keith has pretty solid comedic timing, and without the haze of envy, Keith’s jokes are funny _because_ of his monotone delivery.

But more importantly: “I bet you could also use a guest host. Co-chef. Whatever.” Lance wiggles his eyebrows. Shameless Lance might be, but he’s also resourceful. And he doesn’t really feel bad about using Keith, because Keith totally owes him. Keith rubs at the bridge of his nose, clearly aware of Lance’s less than pure intentions.

“Look,” Keith starts, glaring when Lance perks up.

“Oh come on, NASA would totally grab at the chance for a _Famous YouTuber Joins NASA_ headline--”

“I can see the pros,” Keith continues, ignores Lance’s input. “Wait.” Keith suddenly looks nervous. “If this goes well, I won’t be like… _famous_ -famous, right?”

Lance snorts. “Gyeong, you have wanted to be the first Korean on Mars since the eighth grade. You’ve been gunning for fame since you were thirteen years old.”

Keith makes a discontented noise. “That’s--”

“Totally the same thing,” Lance finishes for him. “Don’t even try to deny it. Fame is fame, whether you’re some fancy schmancy astronaut or a YouTube shitposter.”

“ _U_ _gh_.”

Lance eats a glob of Keith’s gross matcha yogurt and smiles.

 

\--

 

In the eighth grade, Keith Gyeong transferred into Lance and Hunk’s class mid-semester. He’d been living in Korea for most of his life, but had attended an international school, so he didn’t have any difficulty settling in. Even if his English wasn’t as refined, he was actually ahead of them in math and science. Normally, this would invite all kinds of bullying, but Keith was nothing if not fierce. And, when one of their classmates asked why he’d moved to the States on that first day, Keith shut down so fast, the entire _class_ felt guilty.

For the first couple years of knowing each other, Lance was so jealous of Keith (Smart? Handsome? _And_ athletic? What the fuck, was he some kind of shoujo manga love interest?) that his grades shot up because he absolutely _refused_ to be shown up by some new student with a stupid hairdo. His parents and teachers were absolutely ecstatic. Hunk found the whole thing hilarious. Pidge hadn’t joined their group yet, but after hearing the story, they just said something like _well, that explains a lot_.  

It was in sophomore year when Lance had run into Keith and his cousin Shiro at the mall, when Keith introduced Lance to Shiro as his _friend_. Lance had been flabbergasted. _Friend_? They weren’t _friends_ \--they were _rivals_ , constantly beating each other out for the best grades, the best times in track, the most confessions (well, Lance couldn’t actually keep track of that last one, but he was sure that he’d gotten more Valentine’s chocolate than Keith did, and no it was not _childish_ no matter what Hunk said).

But then Keith had looked at him so earnestly that Lance choked back his impulse to reply, “Since when have we been friends?!” Instead, he managed to wheeze out: “Nice...to meet you.”

It wasn’t as if their relationship was antagonistic, exactly--it just relied heavily on competition, founded on a young Lance’s jealousy and a young Keith’s superiority complex. Lance hadn’t known how to act around Keith after he’d called Lance his friend, but Keith wasn’t acting any differently. _Maybe_ , sophomore Lance thought to himself the day after, as he sup-nodded Keith and then immediately showed him the large _100_ circled on his AP Lit exam with a smirk, _I’m the only friend Keith has?_ Because Keith was certainly on friendly terms with most people, even if he was too self-centered and honest for his own good--but he never sought someone out the way he did with Lance.

That, though, that was a weird and dangerous train of thought to follow. Lance had made sure to carefully file that idea far, far away.

High school came and went, uneventfully. The most exciting thing that had happened--even more exciting than getting to go to homecoming with Allura or losing his first kiss to Rolo--was finding out he’d gotten a better SAT score than Keith did (and maybe finding out they’d be going to the same school, but, you know, whatever). Hunk thought his “obsession” was “unhealthy”, but it was what made Lance and Keith _Lance and Keith_ (“Like… like Naruto and Sasuke!” “Dude, that is _not_ the comparison you want to be making.”).

Lance would tell absolutely no one, however, not even his _mother_ , that Keith was kind of the reason he started vlogging in the first place. The first video he had recorded was supposed to be one of those stupid “Shit _______ Say” things brought on by a particularly heated spat between Keith and himself. Eighteen-year-old Lance thought it would be hilarious to make a “Shit Keith Says” video, post it on his wall, maybe make Keith realize what an ass he could be.

Except Lance was the one feeling like an ass, once he uploaded it. Fucking Keith, ruining things when he wasn’t even around. It had only gotten like, ten views and one comment.

Eighteen-year-old Lance carefully read that one comment (“this is fuckin stupid. ur totally in love w this keith guy lol wtf”) and just as carefully deleted the video.

 

\---

 

“I can’t believe I agreed to this?” Keith says, mostly to himself the following week. Lance can feel Keith frowning at his back as he pushes the cart toward the alcohol aisle. Honestly, Lance can’t believe Keith agreed to this either, but he isn’t about to say anything and risk Keith changing his mind or something equally heinous. Hunk glances back at him, about to reply, when he sees Lance miming a slash across his throat. Hunk huffs and exchanges looks with Pidge. They hadn’t planned on participating in what Pidge titled “Lance’s failed experiment #100”, but Pidge is the only one with a car and Hunk wasn’t about to be left out.

“So let me get this straight,” Pidge says, “your schtick is that you cook while drunk? Like, that’s what your whole concept it? Nothing else?”

“I mean, it works for Drunk History,” Hunk points out.

“Thank you, Hunk,” Lance says. “There are cooking shows all over YouTube and drinking shows all over YouTube, but nobody’s used _both_!”

Pidge grimaces. “It sounds really gimmicky.”

Keith sounds resigned when he says, “It _is_ the internet.” Lance pauses so he can cheerfully smack Keith on the back. That’s the spirit! And then Keith says, “Oh the Stella is on sale.” Hunk freezes.

“Stella? You were drinking _Stella Rosa_?” he says, like Keith’s just admitted to murdering his whole family. Lance sighs. Pidge looks at Hunk funny.

“Are you a wine snob?” they say, gaping. “Oh my god, why am I friends with any of you.”

“It tastes good,” Keith says petulantly as he glares at the accusing finger Hunk has pointed at him. “No offense Hunk but that stuff you gave me for my twenty-first tasted like feet and antiseptic.”

“That was a _merlot_ ,” Hunk wails. “The good kind, too!”

Ignoring them, Lance stands in front of the rum selection. This is why he didn’t want to bring anyone. They might call _him_ loud and embarrassing, but at least he doesn’t yell inside WalMart about the virtues of a _“real_ red wine.” An elderly couple passes through, eying the bickering three. Lance resolutely pretends he is here shopping by himself.

Between Lance and Keith, the budget for alcohol is about fifty bucks. They’re not going to get shitfaced so they don’t need a ton, and Lance still has about a fifth of the cheap tequila and the ready made sangria left over from his brother’s visit. Keith is one of those fruity cocktail types--the last time they tried to teach him how to take a shot, Keith sprayed vodka all over them. _Through his nose_.

Lance’s eyes slide over to the Patron. As tempting as a full bottle is, Keith probably won’t appreciate obliterating half their budget on something he won’t even be able to drink. _Next time,_ he promises, _I’ll take you home with me._

“It’s just wine,” Keith grumbles as he makes his way over to Lance. When he notices what Lance is staring at: “No way, Lance. Tequila makes you… weird.”

“What is that supposed to mean!” he protests. Tequila is good. Tequila is his _friend_.

“Remember the last time you drank that? You tried to use Shiro as a stripper pole, and then you tried to give _me_ a lap dance.” Whenever Keith brings that particular trauma up, he always gets this strange look on his face. Lance has never successfully deciphered it.

“I still have videos!” Pidge chimes and skips over. Hunk finally joins them again, looking harassed.

Lance waves his hand dismissively. “That was... a fluke. Anyway, I know that you can’t handle real alcohol so we’re not getting that.” Keith sputters. Whatever response he has shrivels and dies at the looks Lance, Pidge, and Hunk give him. _Who gets drunk off of two and a half glasses of Stella Rosa?_ they silently ask. Lance is very proud of himself for not bringing up freshman year, even though the almost-pout on Keith’s face makes it a very near thing. He can’t have Keith running off.

“I shouldn’t even be humoring your crappy idea,” Keith sniffs, like he’s read Lance’s mind. “This is so stupid.”

“You know, I am kind of shocked you agreed to this,” Pidge says. Lance narrows his eyes at them. Traitor. “Of course, I never thought you’d drunk record yourself either. Always so over the top.” They scrunch up their nose. “You couldn’t just drunk text like a _normal_ person.”

“I--” Keith starts, but then Lance slides over to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Physical affection always flusters him, and sure enough, Keith’s mouth snaps shut as Lance presses close. An underhanded tactic, perhaps, but it’s too late to back down now. Lance is set on this. Combine that with his intrinsic need to compete with Keith, and he is unstoppable.

“We’re just gonna try one more video, okay! Test the waters a bit. If it flops, then it flops.” Lance keeps his tone disinterested, though from the eyeroll Pidge gives him, he’s not very convincing. He squeezes Keith to him a little. “C’mon Keith, this is what college is all about!”

“Making stupid decisions?” Hunk asks doubtfully.

“ _No_ , making memories with your best friends that you can look at twenty years down the road with a fond smile!”

Pidge rolls their eyes again. If they keep doing that, their eyes are gonna roll right of their head. They ignore Lance when he points this out. “Twenty years down the road with a fond smile? Very maudlin of you,” they say, dry and sardonic.

Keith frowns, but Lance can see his resolve crumbling. No matter what bad boy facade Keith puts on, he will always be a softie at heart. “You said this was for profit,” he says, and for some reason it sounds like an accusation.

“That’s just a benefit,” Lance assures him. “One of many.” Despite Lance’s self-centered front and his initial reaction, he _has_ thought over all of this. They’re in their last year of college. Keith, Pidge, and Hunk are all going off to different grad schools, while Lance will be job hunting, maybe moving back to Cuba with his parents. Where they’ll even be in twenty years isn’t something Lance likes to contemplate often. He thinks that they’re lucky to have remained together this long.

If this YouTube thing only lasts them a few weeks, at least they’ll all have something to look back on, a reason to call each other up and say _Hey, remember that stupid series we did back in undergrad?_  

Some of that must flicker over his face, because Keith’s expression softens. “Well, I’m pretty much already ruined.” He glances at Lance. The corners of his mouth quirk, not quite a smile, but it’s close enough. Lance grins back.

He pumps a fist in the air and shakes Keith. “Hell yeah! We’re gonna be fucking awesome.”

“Well, I’m not about to pass up a chance to see this in person,” Hunk says.

Pidge hums thoughtfully. “I _do_ have the best camera out of all of us.”

“So,” Keith says slowly. “Stella?” Hunk heaves a sigh, as if he is carrying a thousand years of guilt on his shoulders, and goes to grab two bottles.

 

\--

 

Two glasses of wine later finds Keith staring very intently into his refrigerator. Lance stands next to him, not quite as gone, but definitely tipsy. He can see why Keith drinks Stella Rosa. Shit tastes like grape juice. He might have drunk an entire bottle by himself? He’s not entirely sure, but there are two empty bottles on the counter and Keith definitely cannot handle more than three glasses. 

They probably should have eaten before they started this, but Lance was too excited. He hears Pidge adjust the camera. They mutter something that makes Hunk choke back a laugh. 

Another few moments of silence. “I don’t have any cheese,” Keith declares solemnly. He glances at Lance, looking Very Disappointed. “I thought I did, but I don’t.” 

The sourdough and tub of butter in Lance’s hand seemed so promising. “But,” Lance says. 

“We can just make toast.” Keith straightens up, closes the fridge, and turns to the camera. “Even if you don’t have cheese, you can still make toast. Just remember to butter your shit.” Hunk’s face is so red from holding in laughter, Lance is a little afraid he’ll pass out. Following Keith to the stove, Lance wonders if he should say something. Crack a joke, tease Keith a little. Usually he’d be all over this, but the wine’s made him strangely docile--the opposite effect that tequila has on him. 

While Keith rattles off his completely B.S. fact list (“Bread was invented by the Pillsbury Dough Boy in 1635, but gluten was invented by a soccer mom in 2010”), Lance opens the package of sourdough and, as Keith so eloquently put it, butters his shit. 

“Use a butter knife for everything,” Keith intones. He’s still looking at the camera. 

Lance can’t help his cackle. “ _Everything_?” 

Keith turns only his head to stare at Lance. “ _E_ _verything_. But don’t hurt yourself.” 

Finally, Hunk bursts, leaning against Pidge and gasping with laughter. “I can’t do this--I can’t--” 

“Cut,” Pidge sighs, but even they seem wildly amused. “Jesus.” Keith looks offended. 

“We can’t _cut_ ,” he protests. 

Lance squints at the knife in his hand and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “We can if we use the butter knife. Use it for everything.” 

“Oh my God. _Please_ tell me you caught that on camera,” Hunk wheezes. Pidge finally joins in the laughter with a nod. “Oh Jesus. This is so good.” Hunk holds his hands up placatingly when Keith scowls. 

“Okay, okay, sorry, I’ll calm down.” 

“I think the pan is smoking?” Lance says. Indeed, smoke rises from the stainless steel fry pan Keith had started to heat up. “It shouldn’t be doing that? Did you clean this?” Along with making him docile, wine also turns all of Lance’s sentences into questions. He wonders what would happen if he got _really_ hammered. 

“Shit,” Keith mutters. He pulls the pan off of the burner and sends another venomous frown Hunk’s way. 

“Okay, just continue,” Pidge says. “Hunk won’t interrupt again, right?” Hunk nods sheepishly. 

Lance goes back to the fridge. Maybe they missed the cheese? Keith should have cheese. Keith _loves_ cheese. To his delight, he finds another bottle of wine instead, the fancy red one that Hunk cried over. 

“I found the foot wine!” he says. Hip checking the fridge door closed, Lance wiggles the wine cork out then takes a swig straight from the bottle. 

“Classy,” he hears Pidge scoff. He grimaces at the taste, looking from the bottle to Hunk. 

“Dude this tastes like shit?”

“It’s--!” 

“ANYWAY,” Keith says loudly. Wine drunk Keith is fun, Lance thinks to himself. “We need to make the grilled cheese. I mean, the toast.” He pauses, looks at the camera. “Cheese was invented by a photographer.” Another pause. “In 1345.” 

Ten minutes later, as Lance is buttering the second slice of sourdough, he exclaims, “I get it!” 

Keith looks at him, startled. “What?” 

“The joke you made? The cheese.” 

“Wine makes you really slow,” Keith says bemusedly. The bottle of antiseptic foot wine is empty now, too, after Lance poured an equal amount into two large glasses and mixed it with cranberry juice. The wounded noises Hunk made had gone cheerfully ignored. Two questionable pieces of toast and twenty-five minutes later, Lance frowns down at his plate. They’ve moved to sit at the bar, in front of the camera. 

“I really wanted a grilled cheese,” he whines. Keith ignores him, chewing slowly. The toast isn’t even really toast. No golden brown coloring, no crisp texture--it’s just. Hot bread. 

“This dish makes me think of Lance. Good,” Keith says likes he’s a judge on Cutthroat Kitchen, “but ultimately disappointing.” 

Lance gapes at him. “I don’t like you.” 

“I like Lance,” Keith smiles; it is deceptively kind, “because he’s tall but has the approachability of a short person.”     

“That doesn’t even make sense, asshole!” It’s not exactly an insult, but the way Keith says it definitely doesn’t sound like a compliment. “I take it back, wine drunk Keith isn’t fun, he’s a--a--” 

“A big meanie?” Hunk offers from behind the camera. 

“Yes! Thank you, Hunk! A big meanie.” 

“Sorry,” Keith says, the smirk in his voice belying any sincerity. Lance glares at him. 

“At least my fridge isn’t full of leftovers.” 

Keith blinks. “What? Why would that-- Who doesn’t have-- You don’t have leftovers?” 

“No.” Lance turns to the camera. “Because I’m not a quitter.” 

At that, Pidge lets out a weird wheeze laugh and almost knocks their camera over. Keith blinks again, slowly, and purses his lips but his eyes curve up as he tries his absolute _best_ not to join Pidge. He knows Lance will never let it live him down if he actually laughs at one of Lance’s jokes. Hunk crouches down and shoves his fist into his mouth, trying not to ruin the shot. 

“I win,” Lance declares to his future audience. “Come back next week for episode two… three? Three. I think there will be an episode three.” Official ending in place, Hunk collapses forward and practically convulses on Keith’s carpet. 

“I can’t believe you got the last word in,” Keith grumbles. “This is _my_ show. Cooking with Keith.” He takes one last swig of his foot-wine/cranberry mixture, smile hidden behind the glass, but Lance sees it. 

“Aw, c’mon, we’re great together.” Lance bumps shoulders with him. Keith’s already pink around the edges from the alcohol, but he flushes even redder. For some reason (maybe the same reason Lance deleted that very first video he ever posted), it makes Lance warm, too. 

They’ve definitely drunk too much.

 

\--

 

Their video receives 3,000 views in two hours. In three days, it rises to just shy of 200,000, and then BuzzFeed posts about them and it _rockets_ to 700,000. If they hit a million before the week is over, Lance is going to throw a goddamn party. He spams everyone with snapchats of all the comments and the steadily rising subscriber count. They even have _haters_. Lance has never had haters. He can’t believe they’re relevant and popular enough to bring the trolls out of the woodwork. A good majority of their fans ( _Fans!!!_ he squeals internally) ask about Lance and Keith themselves. 

_how long have u guys known each other??_

_y wasn’t lance in the first vid…. where did he come from_

_Is that Stella on the counter? Nice to see guys who aren’t afraid to drink “girly” stuff… What other drinks do you like?_

_u guys are sooooooooo cute. pls tell me ur single!_

_You should do a Q &A!! How old are you? Are you guys roommates or something? _    

It makes Lance giddy enough to want to do another video immediately, even though he promised Keith he wouldn’t whine about it until the weekend. Midterms are next month, so they probably won’t be able to record more than one episode (Lance _does_ want to maintain his spot on the dean’s list). They can at least plan some stuff out right? Do a mini Q &A maybe, while they’re cooking. Drunk Q&A’s are always fun. 

 _Keeeiiiithhh_ , he texts. Ten minutes later, his phone tells him Keith’s read the message but hasn’t responded. When Lance checks his snapchat, he sees that Keith’s opened all of Lance’s snaps, too. He knows that Keith’s at work, but how dare he ignore his best friend slash co-host. Well then. Lance will just have to pull out the big guns. 

818-315-XXXX

_keith~~~ 뭐해용 ???_

805-616-XXXX

_……………...why did i teach you korean_

Lance snickers. If there’s one thing Keith will respond to, it’s Lance using overly cute Korean. 

818-315-XXXX

_bc u 사랑 me <3 _

805-616-XXXX

_stop butchering it, you heathen. your aegyo is gross._

818-315-XXXX

_오빵~~~~~~~~~ 보고싶어용 ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ 만납시당 <333 _

When Lance’s phone dings again, it’s Hunk.

818-265-XXXX

_Dude what did u text keith he’s so red lmao he almost threw his phone across the room. Totally freaked coran out_

818-315-XXXX

_LOL tell him to stop bein a lil punk and answer my txts… i rly do need to talk to him tho. and none of ur business ;)_

818-265-XXXX

 _Gross_  

It doesn’t take long for Lance’s phone to start blaring the saccharine Korean pop song he’d set for Keith’s caller ID. “ _Ye_ _oboseyong~?”_ Lance croons. 

“I’m going to disown you,” Keith threatens. “Stop talking like that. What do you want.” 

 _Someone’s grumpy_. Lance keeps his giggles in check. No need to unnerve Keith even more. “Have you read any of the comments on our video?” 

“It’s not like you were spamming my phone with pictures,” Keith says flatly. 

“That doesn’t mean you _read_ them.” 

The phone crackles in Lance’s ear as Keith sighs. “No, Lance, I haven’t. Clearly I don’t have as much free time as you do.” 

Normally, a statement like that would raise all of Lance’s hackles, and he’d snap back something equally scathing. Whether it’s because of his good mood or the memory of Keith’s _awful_ jokes, Lance doesn’t rise to the bait. Keith’s dry sarcasm has lost much of its effect after hearing Keith use it to tell an invisible audience that “cow milk was invented by a sexual deviant in 1995.” 

Instead, Lance laughs, then laughs even harder when Keith makes a surprised noise. “Asshole,” Lance says--affectionately? He tries not to think about that too hard. “I just know how to prioritize my time, unlike some serial procrastinators that I know.” Keith grumbles, but doesn’t respond. 

“Anyway, I was reading some of the comments and we should definitely do a Q&A thing next week. You can still tell your stupid facts,” Lance says quickly. Those might be the best parts of wine drunk Keith. “Also, we should make something that actually has cheese in it next.” 

“I can’t believe people actually watched that stupid…” Keith begins, like he’d expected failure. Lance makes a face. _Please_. As if Keith Gyeong is unaware of his Midas Touch. In high school, every single club he deigned to join not only found its membership booming, it also found itself in the midst of unprecedented success. Keith is practically a local urban legend. 

“So? I was thinking pizza. Usually I’d drink beer with that, but do you like beer? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink beer. I Googled if you could drink wine with it, and Google said we could definitely drink sparkling wine, but the pizza they had pictures of looked like fancy white people pizza--” 

“Lance,” Keith interrupts, and he sounds weird, almost like he’s trying not to laugh. _Rude_ , Lance thinks. This is no laughing matter. 

“What?” Lance says defensively. 

“Nothing. You’re putting a lot of effort into this.” 

“Uh _yeah_ , this is our legacy, Keith. When the NASA recruiter searches your name, they need to be suitably impressed. You could make _memes_ in _space_.” 

“That’s.... weirdly thoughtful?” 

“When am I ever not thoughtful?” Before Keith can do a truly devastating amount of damage, Lance back pedals. “Don’t answer that. So pizza and sparkling wine?” 

If Lance didn’t know any better, Keith’s voice when he says, “Okay, fine,” might have sounded fond or something equally sappy. They’re friends, sure, but Keith doesn’t _do_ fondness, especially not with Lance. He dismisses it before he starts to overthink everything. ( _Again_. Nobody, especially not Lance, needs to relive the subtle tragedy that was high school). 

Clearing his throat, Lance says, “Okay, so next week Tuesday? After your computer science class? Pidge and Hunk should be free then, too. I’ll buy the stuff and you can just pay me later or something.” 

“Fine, next Tuesday. Excuse me while I go back to being a productive member of society.” 

Lance makes a kissy noise. “Have a good day at work, _jagiya_.” Keith doesn’t even bother with a goodbye; he just makes a wounded noise and hangs up.

 

\--

 

At twelve years old, Lance had his first crush on a guy. It didn’t surprise Lance much, if only because the guy was Allura’s dad and Lance had been infatuated with Allura since the second grade. One of the many sixth grade teacher aides, Alfor was beautiful in the same way Allura was (and still is) beautiful; he was kind and patient and knew every student in Lance’s grade by name. Looking back on it, everybody was probably a little bit in love with him. 

Alfor, for a Lance who was bumbling through puberty, had been a very eye-opening experience. 

By the time Lance was fourteen, he had figured out he could like anyone he found attractive enough. Allura had always been a constant in his mostly fleeting crushes, but there’d also been Rax, Nyma, Rolo--hell, even his jerkass Economics teacher Sendak. 

And then there was Keith. The first few years of knowing him, Lance’s singular focus on beating him blinded Lance to anything else, but then sophomore year happened and suddenly Keith was no longer the antagonist to Lance’s hero journey. He was just… Keith, Lance’s tentative friend. Keith, who (Lance had discovered) seemed cold only because he had a very poor grasp on social cues. The kid had mistaken a mugger for a _knife salesman_ , for Christ’s sake. Nobody knew what to make of him, so everyone always held him at an arm’s length. 

Lance was probably the only person who treated Keith like he was more than some Golden Boy, even if that meant challenging Keith to literally everything. In turn, Keith spent an inordinate amount of time with him. It was a natural consequence. Every class they shared, they’d seek each other out just to trash talk or brag about a grade. They had eating contests at lunch. They joined the same clubs trying to one-up each other in extracurriculars. 

Hell, they spent the entire duration of Senior Night on the pier together, attempting to win the most prizes--Lance had even declined an invitation to hang out with Nyma. _Nyma!_  

And Keith had gotten to know Hunk, of course, but they weren’t really _friends_ (not yet, anyway). He had never struck up a conversation with Hunk (or anyone, for that matter) on his own initiative. He had never asked Hunk about his birthday, and then threw a poorly wrapped package at him, muttering, “Now that you’re sixteen, you better not kill anyone with your driving.” He had never seized--and that was really the only way to describe it--Hunk’s attention the way he had seized Lance’s. 

And Lance, poor, easily impressed soul, started to realize that Keith was really, devastatingly, hot. He had compared Keith to a shoujo manga hero once, but that comparison had been made in contempt. As junior year rolled around, Lance found that the _bishounen_ look Keith rocked was one he might actually be attracted to. 

It really didn’t help that whenever Keith caught his eye across the room, he’d give Lance this tiny smirk, like it was a secret. For Lance’s eyes only. And Lance had certainly never seen Keith directing _anything_ like that at anyone else. 

See, the thing about Lance’s crushes was that they were on people he didn’t spend much time around. It was easy to idealize them, put them on a pedestal--and it was just as easy for the pang of attraction to fade away. 

Fortunately, Lance was good enough at compartmentalizing that no one ever found out, though Hunk sometimes eyed him suspiciously. 

(Unfortunately, stuffing everything into a box doesn’t actually make the problem disappear. Especially when that problem is named Keith Gyeong.)

 

\--

 

On Friday, Hunk and Lance take the metro out of town, to check out the grad school Hunk’s applied for. Pidge was supposed to drive him, but something came up with their robotics club. Lance volunteered to go along, in their stead. Hunk has a strange aversion to trains that even he can’t explain, so the moral support Lance is offering is more for the commute than the school tour.

When they finally make it to their stop, Hunk shoots through the doors, backpack clutched in his arms. “Thanks, Lance,” he says with a distrusting glance back at their cart. “I probably would have had a mental breakdown in there by myself.”

Lance stretches his arms above his head, relishing in the sunlight. The doom and gloom weather has finally let up as spring creeps back in. “No problem. Did you have a traumatic experience that I don’t know about?” he asks.

“That’s the  _thing_ ,” Hunk complains as they make their way to the curb. “There’s literally nothing to explain it.”

“Did your fear of trains come before or after your hatred of Thomas the Tank Engine?”

“Before,” Hunk says darkly.

The school, Lance observes as he and Hunk step out of their Uber, is much smaller than their university and much older. It doesn’t look like it has one of the best engineering programs in the state--if anything, it looks more like an English major’s wet dream. A small part of Lance can’t wait to visit after dark so that he can convince Hunk to go ghost hunting; a larger part of Lance, however, feels a sharp pang of dread. Even if this place is only a couple hours away, Lance can’t help but think that he’s being left behind. 

Nobody ever actually says anything, but that’s probably because nobody else is worried about it. Going into college, Lance didn’t have much of a plan--not like Hunk, Keith, or Pidge. Even now, as undergrad draws to a close, Lance doesn’t know what he wants. This YouTube thing--that’s not going to last forever. It’s probably not even going to last three months. And as much as Lance would like to spend all of his time screwing around with his friends, he’s not that naive.

His sudden, sullen silence does not go unnoticed. Hunk stops and reaches for Lance’s shoulder.

“Uh, Lance? You okay there?”

“Huh? No--I mean, yeah, I’m fine. Just thinkin’.”

The large (and frankly pretentious) archway that acts as the official entrance of the campus looms over their heads. The sky is clear, but the atmosphere is strangely oppressive. Even the student chatter is just a low hum. Lance can’t imagine Hunk really thriving here.

Hunk makes a contemplative noise. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“That’s all they’re worth?” Lance jokes. Hunk just raises his eyebrows. “It’s just, you know… The _future_.”

“What about… the _future_ ,” Hunk replies, imitating Lance’s dramatic pause.

Lance lets out a whoosh of air, deflating like a sad, old party balloon. “You guys all seem real certain about life after graduating. I’m the only one who… I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“I feel like it’s stupid. I should be happy about graduating.” Lance makes a wide, sweeping gesture to the campus. “I should be happy for you guys, that you’re doing what you’ve always wanted. But mostly, I just wish we could stay like this.”

Even though Lance is always the one coming up with convoluted plans, he dislikes change. It’s one thing to occasionally step outside his box; it’s another thing entirely to actually _leave_ it. His friends and family have always been his comfort zone, and now, with Real Adulthood looming on the horizon, he doesn’t know if he can cope with losing one of them.

Hunk’s silence seems to stretch on and on before he finally replies. “I’m not going to say I understand completely,” he says carefully, squinting over Lance’s shoulder like if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to see what he should say next. “Honestly, I think this is all pretty terrifying, too. We’ve been friends for… what, ten, eleven years? And Keith and Pidge--I haven’t known them as long, but still, you guys are like. My security blanket.”

Hunk huffs and finally meets Lance’s eyes. “We’re not gonna stop being friends. We won’t see each other as much, but we’ll all make an effort. Even Keith.” His voice changes, expression turning sly. It doesn’t exactly help the knot of anxiety in Lance’s chest.

“What’s with that look?” Lance says warily. “I was preparing my heart for a soulful speech about growing up and friendship.”

Hunk laughs. “Do you really want to hear me wax poetic about it? You already know all that, even if you’re worried. I know you’re a creature of habit but you’re also hard-headed and resilient. It’ll be shitty, but we’ll adjust. You’ll survive. And we’ll all make an effort to reach out. _Keith_ definitely will.”

Lance definitely, absolutely does not turn red. He does feel a little better, knowing that Hunk’s thought about it, but-- “What is that supposed to mean!” he sputters.

Hunk sighs. “Sometimes your total obliviousness just blows my mind.”

Lance scowls at him. “Don’t quote Stranger Things at me. You’re going to ruin its purity.” When Hunk ignores him and starts walking toward the main plaza, Lance trudges behind him. “Stop being so cryptic. It’s unbecoming,” he snipes.

Hunk’s laughter draws the attention of a few nearby students. “Okay, but you can’t interrupt or hit me. Or threaten blackmail.”

“I’m not _Pidge_.”

“Hey, I like to keep all my bases covered. You had a crush on Keith in high school, right?”

Lance freezes and gapes at Hunk. Hunk stops, too, but only for a few moments, and then he’s walking again. Lance hurries after him. So Hunk _did_ find out. What the fuck. “What the fuck!” Lance hisses. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Shouldn’t that be my question?” Hunk asks, confused. “Well, actually I didn’t figure it out until recently. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.”

“You’re still being annoying and cryptic!”

“You know, what’s more surprising is the fact that you never acted on it. You’re the biggest flirt I know. You used to hit on _Sendak_.”

“We don’t speak about that,” Lance mutters. “It was different. I didn’t… I wasn’t friends with any of them. Not really.” He glances at Hunk, who doesn’t look all that surprised despite his earlier words.

“Huh. I didn’t realize your anxiety about change was so….”

“Annoying? Stupid? Irrational?”

Hunk shoves him gently. “ _Pervasive_. Give yourself a little credit, Lance. I get it. That’s why you never said anything in high school? To Keith or me?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Lance shrugs, aiming for nonchalance, but probably falling about fifty feet short. “I’m not exactly eager about ruining friendships.”

“What makes you think you would have ruined your friendship?”

Lance looks at him incredulously.

Hunk exhales, like he’s annoyed. “Never mind,” he says.

“I’m so confused,” Lance groans. Hunk looks at him, like _Yeah, you really are._      

 

\--

 

No matter how much Lance had badgered Hunk, he remained stubbornly tight-lipped on the topic during the rest of their trip. It gives Lance something to contemplate, at least. He makes sure not to obsess over it though--regardless of high school (and possibly current) Lance’s feelings, he has an audience of 300,000 to think about.

The Monday night before he and Keith are set to record a third episode, he sends Keith a snapchat of all the ingredients he’s picked up and the bottles of sparkling moscato. _u owe me $100!!!!!_ he captions.

Keith always uses the chat function instead of sending back pictures because he’s boring. _Receipts?_ he replies. Lance can practically see his sneer. Instead of replying similarly, Lance sends a truly hideous selfie of himself. A few minutes later, his phone tells him that Keith has taken a screenshot.

 _saving my face for ur phone bg??? what are we_ , Lance retaliates. Keith, of course, does not dignify that with a response.

By the time Pidge makes it to Keith’s apartment on Tuesday, Lance is pink-cheeked and attempting to rope Hunk into filming an episode. Out of all of them, Hunk is the most culinary-inclined; it would be fun to see how he’d suffer Lance and Keith’s badgering.

“It would be slow torture,” Hunk says. Keith nods along sagely. Lance pinches his stomach because they’re supposed to be on the same side, dammit.

“What are we doing today, Chef Keith?” Lance asks once they finally have everything set up. Keith sips his moscato. He’s only halfway through his second glass, and he’s already started on the puns.

After gingerly setting down his drink, Keith holds up the package of pre-made pizza crust in one hand and the marinara sauce in the other. “We’re getting sauced,” he says humorlessly, in the same way one might say _Internal Revenue Service_ or _tax season._   

Lance makes a pained noise.

“Pizza,” Keith continues, “unlike Coca Cola, is best served flat.”

They take a ten minute break after that because Pidge spits out their water all over Hunk, who yelps and knocks the camera over. It is an exercise in patience. By the time they finally start topping the damn things, Lance is drunk enough to start finding Keith’s jokes funny instead of atrocious.

Lance has a revelation as he dumps half a bag of cheddar on top of his mushrooms. “We put cheese in a lot of our dishes that don’t actually need cheese,” he says, quite seriously. Keith purses his lips into a somber line as he gives his pizza a pepperoni smiley face and hums in apparent agreement. At this point, Pidge and Hunk have given up trying to stay quiet. Pidge whispers “what the fuck” and Hunk chokes on his spit. But it’s fine--they’re like a low budget (no budget?) laugh track with added commentary.

The wine has suddenly made everything so clear. “Like, french fries? Or nachos? We just want an excuse to eat more cheese.”

“It’s like life,” Keith says. He is almost finished with his third glass. Dangerous territory.

“Explain,” Lance demands.

“We think we’re going after something, but really we’re hiding from ourselves the thing we wanted all along.” Keith rearranges his smiley face so that he can fit a pepperoni nose in the middle.  

Lance blinks. Even Hunk and Pidge are silent, though Lance sees them exchanging Significant Looks. It tugs at something in Lance but all he can focus on is, “How the fuck are you still so arcti--artiul--art--”

“Articulate?” Keith guesses. Hunk looks like he’s bursting to say something. Pidge facepalms. Lance wonders what their problem is.

It’s nearing 9pm by the time the pizzas come out of the oven, and Keith has been banned from drinking any more. After he says “Cheese was invented by a photographer” for the fifth time, Pidge takes away his glass and ignores Keith’s forlorn stares.

“Q&A now?” Lance asks sleepily. The docility that comes with the wine apparently becomes drowsiness after a couple of hours--particularly after eating a godawful amount of carbs. The ready-made pies Lance had bought were technically family sized but honestly, any pizza could be a personal pizza if you tried hard enough.

“I don't think you're coherent,” Pidge says even as they pull out the question sheet. They grimace at whatever they’ve read. “I think it would be better to do this sober.”

With a jaw cracking yawn, Lance forces himself to sit up. He had kinda already promised the viewers this, and while he is not bound to that promise, he doesn’t want to create some kind of flaky reputation for Keith’s--their--channel. The NASA recruiters would be real disappointed, he thinks. He doesn’t want to ruin Keith’s chances.

When he mentions this, Keith stares at him with wide eyes. He touches Lance’s arm gently. “Thank you,” he says gravely. Lance smiles at him.

It takes another hour and a half to get through seven questions, mostly because Lance can’t stop talking and Keith keeps interrupting which just distracts Lance even more.

(“How do you guys know each other?” Pidge recites.

“We’re best friends!” Lance wraps an arm around Keith’s waist. “We’ve known each other since the eighth grade!”

“Friendship was invented by Hasbro in 1831,” Keith interjects, leaning into Lance’s side.

Lance stares at him “Didn’t know you were a Brony, Keith.”

Keith stares back. “Friendship is magic.”

It had kind of spiraled out of control from there.)

At 11pm, Hunk pushes Keith into his bedroom before he passes out in the kitchen. “Total. Obliviousness. Blows. My. Mind,” Hunk says to Lance just before they separate for the night. He punctuates each word with a poke to Lance’s chest.

“ _Honestly,_ ” Pidge huffs. Lance thinks about the way Keith kept staring at him and kind of gets it.

 

\--

 

Editing the video proves to be a slow torture. Lance watches Video Keith stare at his video self with a singular focus. Video Keith’s eyes keep flicking down to Video Lance’s mouth.

Even worse is the way Video Lance does the same thing (not as frequently, but he’s definitely staring at Video Keith’s mouth when he pouts).

_Sometimes your total obliviousness blows my mind._

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love university settings...........sorry. 
> 
> translations (i just really wanted lance annoying keith in korean because of [THIS](http://echizensama.tumblr.com/post/152674430356/maixiem-spiritual-successor-to-this-im-not)):  
> 뭐해용 - what are you doing (mweohaeyong)  
> bc u 사랑 me - bc u love (sarang) me. lance is totally butchering the use here lmao.  
> aegyo - cutesy behavior. lance is adding the ㅇ(ng) consonant to the end of his sentences; it's kind of like someone going "i weally like you"  
> 오빵 - oppa (oppang); normally used by korean girls to address an older male. lance is being gross and flirty here.  
> 보고싶어용 ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ 만납시당 - i miss you (bogosipeoyong) T___T let's meet up (manapsidang)  
> yeoboseyong - hello  
> jagiya - sweetie/honey
> 
> (also if u want an idea of how ~lovey dovey~ klance are in their q&a, watch jenn im's [meet my boyfriend tag](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpdLt6xD8MI). the love in their eyes when they stare at each other is AWFUL and by awful i mean wonderful)


	2. just give me a riesling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL i am full of sap and i hate conflict. this is literally all just like...fluff....sorry. also i haven't rly edited this so if u see any weirdness/typos pls let me know, ty!!!!

Because Lance isn’t actually an asshole, he does not go out of his way to avoid Keith. At first, he feels a little awkward when they eat lunch together the next day, but gets over it pretty quickly when Keith tells him that his doge shirt is embarrassing.

“How _dare_ you,” Lance says, holding his hands over doge’s ears. “Don’t speak to me or my son ever again.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Consider it done.”

After that, it’s--well, the whole thing doesn’t disappear from Lance’s brain, but he knows the one thing he _doesn’t_ want is to inexplicably push Keith away. He very carefully packs everything away until he can figure out what he _does_ want. Hunk keeps staring at him pointedly over the week, as if he’s expecting Lance to say something. Like what? ' _Keith, I think you like me and I had a crush on you in high school that never actually went away, please date me’_?   

Yeah, _that_ would go over well. If all these years of knowing Keith have taught Lance anything, it’s that Keith is essentially a cat in human form. Everything he does is on his own terms. He needs to be the one instigating something; otherwise, he’ll run away or shut Lance out. That would be counterproductive to pretty much everything.

So Lance will continue to act as he normally does--at least, until he can figure out what to say so that Keith doesn’t freak out on him. Although, after this little revelation, Lance is noticing all kinds of things he’s never picked up before. It’s.... bewildering. Bewildering and exhilarating.

“Hey, Keith!” Hunk clasps his shoulder, then lets go at Keith’s slight grimace. Lance, who never hesitates to pull his friends into one-armed hugs, wonders at Keith’s non-reaction to _his_ physical affection. Aside from occasionally stuttering if Lance catches him mid-sentence, of course, which makes a million times more sense now. Keith calls Lance an idiot all the time, but Lance is maybe starting to agree with him.

To test this theory, Lance drapes himself over Keith’s back while they’re studying at Keith’s apartment for their hardest midterm of Hell Week. Keith draws in a breath, but remains silent until Lance digs his chin into Keith’s shoulder.

“You’re not studying,” Lance accuses. The reddit mascot on Keith’s laptop grins at him. Definitely _not_ the lecture slides from organic chemistry. It’s not exactly comfortable, with the back of Keith’s chair digging into Lance’s ribs, but he has a clear view of Keith’s Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows, a front row seat to Keith’s suddenly jumping pulse. How the heck did Lance never notice this?

“Why is your chin so pointy,” Keith complains, though he clicks back to the powerpoint. “You’re not studying either.”

“Because I hate o-chem,” Lance says. Unlike earlier, Keith does not grimace or flinch or pull away. Lance tightens his hold, just a little, wondering. After the initial few moments of stiffness, Keith relaxes--it is slight, but there, and Lance hopes Keith can’t feel the way his heart is trying to claw its way out of his chest like a deranged animal.

“Isn’t that more reason to study? So you don’t have to retake it?”

Lance tries to focus on the conversation. Keith is so damn _warm_. “I’ll pass,” he mutters. When Keith laughs, Lance feels it in his whole body.

“You’ll pass the class? Or you’ll pass on studying?”

“Oh, Geyong’s got _jokes_ ,” Lance says archly.

“Yeah. I’m the reason why our channel has over a million views.”

A stupid smile stretches out Lance’s mouth when Keith says “ _our_ channel.” God.

“Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Keith.” Lance finally pulls away, cheeks warm, and flops down on the floor. _God_. A few moments of silence and then: “Hey, Keith?”

Keith spins his chair around, so that he’s facing Lance. Bastard looks completely unruffled. What Lance wouldn’t give for a poker face like that.

Taking a deep breath, Lance asks, “What did you mean when you said that first video wasn’t meant to be public?” It’s as good a time as any to bring it up. In their Q&A (which Lance still hasn’t posted because every time Video Lance and Video Keith look at each other, Real Lance has an aneurysm, and he’s not sure he wants that to be public), someone had asked what gave them the idea to start the channel. Drunk as he was, Keith still had the presence of mind to deflect the attention elsewhere.

Before, Lance had absolutely no guesses behind Keith’s motives. Now, he has an inkling, but he doesn’t want to assume that everything Keith does, he does with Lance in mind (though that particular thought makes Lance’s heart seize up in his chest. Pidge is wrong--his inferiority complex won’t be the death of him; Keith Gyeong will).

As expected, Keith glares at him, mouth set into a stubborn line. This time Lance embraces the fondness that blankets him. “Why are you so hung up on this?” Keith asks, clasping and unclasping his hands on his lap.

Lance sits up, cross-legged, so he can shrug. “Well, you never actually answered it in the Q&A.”

“Well, why haven’t _you_ posted that Q &A yet?”  

“What!” Lance squawks. “Don’t change the subject! And I asked first!”

“I asked second!”

“Oh my God Keith, _really_?”

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.” Keith sits back in his chair and crosses his arms smugly.

“I--just--I haven’t finished editing yet!” he lies.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “I thought that _I_ was the serial procrastinator.” Lance gapes at him. Of course he finally admits to it only when it’ll help him win an argument.

“What’s so bad about it that you’re not even willing to talk? Did you do it to beat me out or something?” Lance says, a little hurt. “Congrats, it worked.” His own channel has been neglected for the past few weeks, not that his 100 subscribers really care. Leave it to Keith to win a competition he hadn’t even really been participating in.

“I didn’t--it’s not--I didn’t beat you out! We’re working together, aren’t we?” Keith’s voice wavers a little, and Lance immediately feels guilty.

“Yeah. Yeah, we are. I just. Sorry, forget it. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I really don’t know why I’m so hung up on it.” Lance grins too widely, bringing his knees up so he can hug his legs to his chest.

Keith exhales loudly and scrubs at his hair. “Look, you know how bad I am at… You just… You seemed really sad this semester? Especially after Hunk got his acceptance letter.” He stares up at the ceiling, presumably so he doesn’t have to look at Lance.

Blinking, Lance leans forward. “Did I? I didn’t think anyone noticed.” And he really didn’t. He even made sure to put extra effort into heckling Hunk about finally finding his nerdy one true love.

“Of course I noticed,” Keith snaps. He’s still not looking at Lance. “I’m awful at comforting people.” This time, his gaze drifts back down, and Lance hopes to God Keith can’t see how hard he’s blushing right now. _Of course I noticed_. Who even says things like that?!

“Yeah,” Lance says, thanks the heavens that his voice doesn’t crack. “I remember that time with Pidge and their brother.” Thankfully, Keith smiles at this instead of shutting down.

“And you clearly didn’t want anyone knowing you were upset. So I… I don’t know, I wanted to cheer you up I guess.” Keith mumbles the last part of the sentence, looking away again. Oh, Keith Gyeong is _definitely_ going to kill Lance, if the way Lance’s mind short-circuits is any indication.

“The alcohol was probably a bad idea though,” Keith concedes. “I was supposed to make it unlisted and send it to you, but I guess I fucked up and made it public instead.”

For the first time in his life, Lance finds himself at a loss for words. How does he even respond to something like this? He needs to say _something_ \--he can see the panic and regret growing on Keith’s face every millisecond he remains quiet.

So many things try to make their way out of Lance’s mouth, like _I really like you_ and _Does this mean you like_ me _?_ and _You are so fucking cute, what the_ fuck.

None of those seem really appropriate though, so Lance settles for: “I’m really glad I met you, Keith.” His face hurts from smiling so much, but he honestly can’t help it. Keith stares at him, eyes round, his neck and face a splotchy red.

“You can’t just…!” Keith makes a strangled noise and promptly spins around to face his laptop again, shoulders hunched. “You can’t just _say_ things like that!”

Lance jumps up and drapes himself over Keith’s back again, too giddy to feel self-conscious, and even as Keith continues to make dying noises, he doesn’t push Lance away.    

 

\--

 

Midway through Hell Week, Lance announces in the group chat that his head will literally implode if he has to memorize another damn structure; he’s even started seeing abbreviated line formulas when he closes his eyes at night.

 _anyone down 4 an adventure???_ he asks. It’s almost 5pm. Reviewing o-chem has literally taken five hours. He remembers one of his linguistics professors last year talking about information overload and how the brain can only take in so much info at a time--and Lance has _definitely_ hit his capacity.

 _By adventure, do you mean McDonalds drive-thru??_ Hunk replies a few minutes later. _I’m down for that, but not much else. I still have 1000 words left for this essay. Due tomorrow. Lol._

Lance frowns at his screen. _wasn’t that essay assigned like a month ago………… hunk……_

Hunk sends back a cry-laughing emoji. That’s a no for him, then.

_pidgeot? 키스?? u guys wanna do something?_

Surprisingly, Keith replies before Pidge does. Despite their… (bonding moment? Lance still isn’t sure where they stand now) despite _that night_ , nothing’s really changed, but that’s mostly because Hell Week has turned everyone into paranoid shut-ins so they haven’t actually seen each other in a few days. Of course, Lance still makes sure to send everyone--especially Keith--awful pictures of himself. Every time Keith screenshots them, Lance remembers Keith’s mumbled _I just wanted to cheer you up_ and tries not to roll around on his bed screeching.

 _Im down, in about an hour. Almost done with both my essays._ Keith sends a smirking emoji, clearly aimed at Hunk.

Hunk just replies with _:(_.

_yaaaas keith!!! pidgeotto? pidgey?? i can see u reading these messages…_

_Ok first of all, why am i devolving from pidgeot to pidgey? Rude._

Lance snorts. _cause u like to act all big n intimidating but rly ur just small and cute_

 _That doesn’t even make sense,_ Keith replies. 

_I_ am _hitting a wall with this stupid AI program…… Let’s go down to the pier?? I’ll drive,_ Pidge sends before Lance can say something stupid like _your face doesn’t make sense!!!!_

Hunk sends at least ten different crying emojis. _sorry buddy_ , Lance says, _but u DID have a whole month to finish that essay_

Ignoring Lance and Hunk’s ensuing sticker battle, Keith confirms that he will Uber there once he’s done. It makes Lance a little giddy, the thought of seeing him face to face after everything, but he makes sure to tamp it down. The last thing he needs is Pidge smelling blood in the water.

On a Wednesday evening, the pier is relatively uncrowded, though Pidge still has to hang onto Lance’s sleeve so they don’t get separated. They weave their way around the throng of people, Lance on a mission for some funnel cake and Pidge on a mission for more pokeballs. The bright lights and loud game booth handlers are a nice reprieve from the oppressiveness of Lance’s room; even the occasional screaming child is kind of soothing.

As the pier’s tiny roller coaster roars overhead, Lance slides his gaze over to Pidge, who’s still grasping onto Lance’s jacket and staring intently at their phone.

“Motherfucker, you’re only 34CP, get in the goddamn ball,” Pidge says. A passing family shoots them a scandalized look. Sending the family an apologetic grin, Lance gently guides Pidge away from the groups of parents and small children--sometimes he forgets that Pidge swears like a sailor when they’re stressed out.

The small funnel cake shop stands cheerfully next to the ferris wheel, and Lance pauses to stare up at the neon lights. Senior Night in high school, Nyma had texted Lance and asked him if he wanted to go on it with her. Normally, he would’ve leapt at the chance because clearly his charms had finally won her over and she wanted to make out with him (probably); but before he could even think about saying yes, Keith had pointed at the game booths, grabbed Lance’s sleeve in the same way Pidge had, and just _smiled_. Not a smirk or a smug grin--an honest to God _smile_.

Whenever books or movies talked about the world slowing down, Lance always called bullshit, because really? How did that even make sense?

Except, as Keith stared at him, eyes wide and bright, time _did_ seem to pause--or maybe Lance’s thoughts were racing too fast for him to really grasp, like tiny silver fish zipping around the murk that had suddenly engulfed his mind.

“You’re blushing,” Pidge says, shattering his Wholesome Flashback. “You that excited about funnel cake?”

“Uh--uh--I--yeah,” Lance stutters, then strides toward the line when he sees the predatory glint in Pidge’s gaze.

“Soooooo,” Pidge starts. Lance very carefully does not react. He knows that tone. That tone is dangerous. “You and Keith, huh?”

Whirling around to face them, Lance nearly pokes Pidge’s eye off with his forceful pointing. “Hunk told you?!”

Pidge bats his hand away, annoyed, but it quickly transforms into smugness. “No. But you just did.”

 _Goddammit_.

“I mean, I always suspected something since the first time I met you guys, but the fact that you haven’t spammed us with clips from the Q&A or even posted it yet pretty much cements everything. Though the verbal confirmation was nice.”

Lance’s mouth falls open, and Pidge raises their eyebrows before nudging him to the ordering window. After he places his order, he collapses onto a nearby bench, and Pidge goes to stand in front of him, arms crossed.

“It’s too...” Lance says. “I can’t just post… Does he--do _we_ \--”

“Always stare at each other like that? Yeah, but only when you think no one’s looking. Let me tell you right now, you guys are shit at subtlety.”

On cue, Lance’s phone starts playing Keith’s Korean pop song jingle. He fumbles with it, very aware of Pidge’s gaze. “Hey, Keith,” Lance croaks out.

“...What’s with that voice? What did you do?”

“Uhh, nothing, Pidge just punched me in the stomach.”

Pidge’s palm meets their forehead with a slight _whap_.

“Oh. Where are you guys?”

“By the funnel cake place, next to the ferris wheel?”

“Okay, see you in a bit.” Once Keith hangs up, Lance reaches forward to clasp Pidge’s hands, suddenly panicked.

“Oh my God what I am going to do,” he hisses. At Pidge’s confused squint, Lance launches into a quick recap of the study session a few nights ago, glossing over many of the details he is sure Pidge doesn’t want to hear. Like how much Lance just wanted to curl up in Keith’s lap.

“Order for Lance?” the cashier calls just as Keith comes into view.

“Just act normal,” Pidge whispers to him and waves Keith over. They ignore Lance’s quiet wail of “Easy for _you_ to say.”

 

\--

 

“Okay, I know you just had a whole funnel cake to yourself, but you’re oddly…. hyper,” Keith says, and Lance stumbles over an uneven plank, throwing a contemptuous look at Pidge when they snicker.

“Just excited to be outside!” Lance insists, probably too loudly. “It’s been eighty years since I felt the moonlight on my face… the night breeze through my hair… the sound of voices other than my own…”

Pidge doesn’t even look up from their phone and is _still_ holding onto Lance’s jacket sleeve. Like a remora. “Calm down, Hemingway.” Keith smirks at that.

“Why do I hang out with you people? You don’t appreciate me,” Lance sniffs. As they had made their way up and down the pier, Lance hoped Keith wouldn’t notice his nervous energy, but that was asking too much, apparently--and the fact that Keith _did_ notice just makes Lance even more twitchy.

_Of course I noticed._

Lance is going to die an early death. _Here lies Lance Espinosa_ , his tombstone will read, _beloved son, brother, friend, and not-boyfriend because he died before he could make a move_. Hunk and Pidge would commission that for sure.

“We do appreciate you,” Pidge says. “We just don’t appreciate your sense of humor.” If it were anyone else that tone might have been sincerely apologetic, but this is Pidge, so Lance pulls them into a headlock and ignores Keith’s exasperated frown.

“Yield!” they say, voice muffled. “God, your jacket stinks.”

“I can’t take you guys anywhere,” Keith sighs, glancing at his watch. “We better start heading back. It’s almost 9.” Sure enough, as soon as the words leave his mouth, the lights on the ferris wheel shut down. The crowd has thinned down considerably, only a few stragglers having stayed this late, most of them couples. Lance ignores Pidge’s long and pointed stare when he releases them from his hold.

“I don’t wanna go back,” Lance huffs. “Who even needs a degree? I’m gonna become a sheep herder in Iceland.”

Keith shrugs, then says, “We could always film another episode of drunk cooking.” When Lance and Pidge stare at him, Keith blushes. “What??”

“Is this really Keith? Voluntarily asking if we can film?” Lance says, taking a step back dramatically.

Keith glowers. “Never mind.”

“I’m kidding! I have some ready to drink sangria at my place I keep forgetting about.” And the tequila. Can’t leave behind the tequila.

“They sell ready made sangria? If Hunk were here, he’d be crying wine geek tears right now,” Pidge says. “And I’d join you, but I have an exam at 8 tomorrow morning. I left all my stuff at Keith’s place, so you can manage on your own, right?” They say it so nonchalantly that Lance almost believes them until they smirk at him when Keith checks his phone. Lance makes a face before schooling his expression into one of disinterest once Keith is paying attention again. Why can’t his friends be quietly supportive instead of obnoxious and smug? _You surround yourself with people who resemble yourself_ , he’d read somewhere once--obviously a Total and Complete Lie.

On the way back to the dorms, Pidge keeps talking about Keith and Lance’s relationship in weird, metaphorical terms like, “You better finish your interpersonal communications homework soon.” Keith keeps shooting them suspicious glances, and Lance nearly bursts a vein pretending like he doesn’t know what they’re talking about. They don’t even have the grace to try to relate it to the conversation--they just spout random metaphorical tidbits apropos of nothing. When Lance’s building finally comes into view, he slumps in relief. Clearly he needs to find new friends.

“Tonight’s a good night for fire signs,” Pidge says as Lance and Keith climb out.

“You don’t even believe in astrology!” Lance finally snaps.

“You could also step out of your comfort zone for once in your life,” Pidge suggests.

Lance’s jaw drops. “Excuse me?!” But Pidge just laughs, salutes, and drives off like some comic book villain. _Honestly._

Keith asks, with no small amount of confusion, what that was all about, and Lance tells him it’s because the moon is full. Keith looks up at the pale crescent in the sky and screws his face up in bewilderment, but doesn’t say anything. The walk to Lance’s room isn’t silent because Lance fills the air between them with nervous chatter, to keep any potential awkwardness at bay--though, if anything, the chatter just magnifies how tense he is. Usually, Keith would make some snarky comment about Lance’s inability to shut up, but he seems to have picked up on Lance’s mood. His expression remains tranquil, and he offers quiet input every now and then, but otherwise allows Lance to exhaust his nerves.

By the time they’ve grabbed the drinks (Keith had eyed the tequila warily) and gone to wait for their Uber to Keith’s apartment, Lance is finally calm enough to let the silence be comfortable instead of weird.

“I just realized we don’t actually have a plan?” Lance says, looking up and down the road for their driver.

“This _just_ occurred to you?” Keith asks. When Lance pouts at him, he laughs. And now that Lance is finally Aware, he can see how Keith looks at him, how his whole face seems to transform, soft and open. It makes Lance’s chest lurch, and he wonders if he looks like that when he looks at Keith--if Keith can see it.

Lance has been in relationships before, but he’s never craved anyone else’s attention the way he craves Keith’s. Since they were thirteen, Lance has always tried his absolute hardest to keep Keith’s eyes on him, and while it might have started as a rivalry, now it’s… It’s a thudding heart when Keith sincerely smiles, a catastrophic amount of butterflies when Keith leans into him instead of away, a terrifying desire to memorize each and every one of the looks (even the annoyed ones) Keith seems to have reserved only for him. It is every sappy Hollywood thing Lance outwardly makes fun of, but secretly hopes for.

“God,” Lance breathes out, as the feeling consumes him.

Misinterpreting Lance’s tone, Keith tilts his head. “What? You think of something?”

“No, just… Realizing things. You know, Kylie Jenner said 2016 was the year of realizing things. She’s so right.” Lance laughs, probably sounding a touch hysterical. Humor is a safe place--a retreat, until Lance can pull together something that’s more coherent than the things rushing through him right now.

Keith, thankfully, doesn’t comment on the weird hitch in Lance’s voice and just sighs. “I don’t know if I want to take the words of Kylie Jenner seriously,” he says.

“There’s more to her than meets the eye,” Lance says somberly. “Like me!”

Keith snorts. “Right.”

It’s nearing 9:45 when they finally make it to Keith’s place. All the funnel cake from earlier has finally taken its toll, and Lance immediately flops face down on Keith’s couch, slightly woozy from the sudden crash. Keith owns one dinky throw pillow, which he usually naps on, and Lance totally does not bury his nose in it and inhale the lingering scent of Keith’s shampoo. The pillow is just really soft, okay? And it just _happens_ to smell overwhelmingly good.

Lance sits up when he hears Keith open the fridge to put the drinks away. “So what are we making?” he asks and smacks his cheeks lightly. No way is he going to let himself fall asleep, just so Keith can throw a blanket over him like they’re in some PG-rated teeny-bopper film. Between midterm hell and all his Realizations, Lance deserves _at_ _least_ a PG-13 drinking montage.

“Nothing involving the oven… or the stove. Heat of any sort,” Keith says decisively as he watches Lance slowly melt back into the sofa. “Maybe you should just sleep. Do you have anything due tomorrow? Are you sure you should be--”

“History midterm due tomorrow at 11:59pm,” Lance dutifully reports. “I’m already mostly done with it, I just need to edit it a little. Anyway, how are we supposed to cook without heat?” Lance wonders how Keith can act so _normal_. Nothing gets to him. It’s a little discouraging, but Lance is as stubborn and persistent as they come. He’s not going to let Keith’s ridiculous composure deter him.

Though, Keith doesn’t actually know how much Lance wants to curl up on him like a huge, lazy cat, so that’s probably a contributing factor to how unaffected he seems.

When Keith crosses his arms in apparent contemplation, Lance can’t help but eye his biceps and wonder what it would feel like to be cradled by those--okay, he needs to stop this before he hurts himself.

“Salad?” Keith asks.

“Keith, the only vegetables you own are carrots and frozen broccoli.”

“How… how do you know that?”

Lance smiles mysteriously. “I know everything.”

Actually, he’d seen the contents of Keith’s fridge the week they filmed the pizza episode, and he knows Keith hasn’t gone grocery shopping yet because he always complains about not having food for at least a week until Lance drags him to the supermarket. For someone who’s so ambitious, Keith is actually awful at taking care of himself.

They spend a few minutes raiding Keith’s cupboards. Well, Keith rummages through his stuff while Lance pours himself a glass of sangria with just a splash of tequila. Okay, maybe two splashes…… three splashes, but who’s counting?

“Tequila makes you weird,” Keith warns for the fourth time.

“Says _you,_ Mr. ‘Vegetables Were Invented in 2008 by Michelle Obama,’” Lance replies airily. Loose limbed and oddly calm, Lance saunters over to Keith, wine glass in hand, and drapes his free arm around the other man’s shoulders, inspecting the frankly sad state of Keith’s pantry. Keith huffs, in amusement or exasperation Lance doesn’t know--probably a combination of both.

“We need to go grocery shopping,” Lance says after a few moments.

“....We?” Keith asks and glances at Lance, then immediately looks back to the cupboard, slightly pink, when Lance grins at him.

“Don’t kid yourself, Gyeong. You’re hopeless without me.”

Keith elbows him and looks up at the ceiling like he’s praying for patience, but Lance isn’t imagining the slight upward quirk of his mouth.

By the time they finally figure something out and set the camera up, Lance is almost done with his third glass of tequila-sangria and Keith’s started his second. Without Pidge or Hunk, Keith refuses to even stand near the stove, but grudgingly agrees to let Lance use the microwave. It’s a weird dichotomy--that Keith can’t go grocery shopping for himself, but, even when he’s drunkenly mumbling his awful jokes, he can list off all the ways Lance will hurt himself if he tries to use fire. It is _stupidly_ endearing. The tequila keeps telling Lance to just kiss the damn idiot already, but Lance isn’t that far gone.

“Since Keith over here won’t let me use his stove--” Lance starts, holding up a large bowl.

“Stupid and unnecessary injuries were invented by Lance Espinosa in 1994,” Keith calls out, off camera. He walks back into the shot with a jar of mayonnaise and mustard in hand. “And I feel like there’s more than just macaroni, mayo, and mustard for macaroni salad?”

“Carrots,” Lance says wisely.

Keith blinks. “Oh. Right.” Then he makes a face. “Wait, no, that’s--”

“Well, since SOMEBODY can’t Adult--”

“Shut up, Lance.”

“But this is what college is about, guys. Making the most of what you’ve got.” Lance grabs the jar of mayonnaise from Keith. “In our case, microwab--microwabl--micro--”

“Microwaveable,” Keith supplies.

“Yes, that. Easy Mac. And also, whatever you can find in your friend’s sad kitchen.”

Keith scoffs. “And months-old alcohol?”

" _Fr_ _ee_ months-old alcohol,” Lance emphasizes. Keith watches as Lance spoons a glob of mayo into the bowl of now-cold macaroni, his gaze a little bleary. It _is_ pretty late, but that’s not an excuse for Keith to just stand around uselessly.

“You know this would be faster with two hands,” Lance says pointedly.

Keith looks him dead in the eye and says: “That’s not the only thing that would be faster with two hands.”

“Oh my God,” the say in unison, Keith horrified, Lance gleeful. This is just like the Jungle Juice incident, only a million times better (mostly because this time Keith’s awful pick up line is being directed at Lance and not the hot Geology 100 TA). And then, because the tequila is really starting to kick in, he starts imagining what _exactly_ would be faster with two hands. The glee gives way to a sudden impulse to ask Keith for a demonstration, which Lance immediately shoves back down. As _awesome_ as a demonstration might seem, Lance has some integrity. A strange expression must cross Lance’s face regardless, because Keith jabs a finger at him.

“Shut up,” Keith hisses.

Lance flushes. “I haven’t even said anything yet!”

Keith glares at him, until Lance reaches into the bowl to offer him a macaroni. “ _Penne_ for your thoughts?” he asks with a straight face. Whatever response Lance is expecting, it is definitely _not_ Keith gaping at him and then doubling over in laughter. Lance stares at him, more than a little shocked.

“So stupid,” Keith manages breathlessly, bright-eyed, his smile a little unhinged but so _fond_ that it feels like Lance has been sucker punched in the chest.

The feeling from earlier tonight wells up in him, cresting like a tidal wave somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. “You’re so _cute_ ,” he blurts out helplessly. Keith stops laughing. Oh, _fuck_. He wasn’t supposed to say that out loud? Shitshitshitshit--he needs to--he needs to make it sound like he’s kidding---he might have meant it, but that--Keith isn’t--

Keith blinks up at him, mouth formed into a small ‘o’, and Lance’s brain shuts down completely, can’t even follow it up with a joke. He takes it back: tequila is _not_ his friend.

“Th...thanks?” Keith says. Oh God, Keith’s face is so red.  

“Haha! Ha! Well, don’t let it get to your head!” Lance says. His voice cracks, and he kind of really wants to die? “Anyway! We should probably finish this--thing--I’m just going to--” He turns jerkily and walks to the sink. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, not that Lance had anything _planned_ , but he definitely didn’t want everything to come out while they were both tipsy and sleep-deprived. Although, it wasn’t like he confessed? He just told Keith he was cute, and then...totally walked away. God, why is Lance so bad at this? What if Keith thought he was just being an asshole and then never took him seriously again and then--

“You’re going to hurt yourself from thinking so hard,” Keith says, suddenly standing next to him.

Lance startles, banging his hip into the counter. “God!”

“Yes?” Keith says, lips twitching. He’s still a little red around the edges, but there is a steely determination in his eyes that makes Lance’s stomach swoop.

“Stupid. 2012 called, they want their joke back,” Lance mutters. If Keith keeps looking at him like that, Lance really will have an aneurysm.

“I’m hilarious,” Keith says, with no discernible emotion. “All the comments say so.” That’s Keith offering a lifeline, which Lance snatches up gratefully. He had thought Keith would be the one to freak out, but clearly this is not the case. Between the two of them, Lance _is_ the one who struggles more with stuff like emotional honesty; hell, he can barely admit things to _himself_. Keith, somehow, knows this and doesn’t press. Lance probably doesn’t deserve him.

“Don’t believe everything you read on the internet,” Lance says loftily. If his voice wavers, neither of them acknowledge it.

“Of course,” Keith says dryly.

They finish up filming without any more interruptions, though neither of them touch their wine glasses again. While they’re cleaning up, Lance hands Keith the dirty dishes, allowing his touch to linger just a tad longer than usual, an apology and a thank you. Keith doesn’t look at him, but his mouth and brow soften, the expression someone makes just before a smile.

Around one in the morning, Lance is still sitting on the living room floor and staring at his laptop screen. Editing is such a _pain_. He glances at Keith, who’s fallen asleep on the sofa, curled around the dinky throw pillow. It really hits him then--they only have a few more months left like this, before Keith (and Pidge and Hunk) go off to bigger and better things. And Lance can handle it (he _can_ , even if it’ll suck), but that also means he doesn’t have forever to brood and panic about everything that might go wrong. He might not know what he wants in the future, but he does know what he wants right now.

 _Just step out of my comfort zone for once in my life, huh?_ Lance’s gaze flicks between Keith and the innocuous Q &A file sitting in his COMPLETE folder. Before he can change his mind, Lance uploads it onto their channel then pushes his laptop away so that he won’t talk himself into cancelling the whole thing. Then he stretches out on the carpet, relishing in Keith’s heated flooring, and closes his eyes. He can over think himself into an incoherent mess tomorrow.

 

\--    

 

818-265-XXXX

_Eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy you uploaded it :DDDDDDDDDDD_

805-744-XXXX

_did you finish your interpersonal communications homework?? it seems like you did_

805-744-XXXX

_Unless you were drunk when you posted it…………_

961-655-XXXX

_Uhh are you and my cousin dating now? Pidge sent me your video and a winky face?_

805-616-XXXX

_wait is this the real reason you never uploaded the q &a? no wonder everyone thinks we’re dating _

 

Lance stares blearily at his phone when the TA isn’t looking. He’d almost skipped class today when his alarm went off at 8am, but then he looked at the notification he’d written to himself ( _EXTRA CREDIT QUIZ FOR ASTRONOMY TODAY, YOU NEED THIS SO DON’T SKIP!!!!!!!!!!)_ and nearly twisted his ankle scrambling to get up. He wrote a hasty note for Keith, who was still on the couch and dead to the world, then jetted to the bus stop. No time to change or brush his teeth or _wash his face_ , but this class is the only one he really needs to attend today. He can go back home after he tries to salvage his grade.

For now, though, Lance tries not to think too hard about what Keith’s text means. He does make the mistake of checking the comments, however, and lets out a quiet dying noise.   

_OMG THE WAY THEY STARE AT EACH OTHER?_

_KEITH LOOKS SO FOND. leith?? klance?? i will go down with this ship._

_lance keeps staring at keith’s mouth lol real subtle there_

_u guys said u were just best friends…..??_

_y’all they probably just didn’t want to make their r/s public, you know how messy that can get…_

_Nah it’s clearly just UST, they’re just in denial_

_You guys are delusional… why does everyone have to ship everything? Why can’t they just be friends?_

It really isn’t anything less than he expected, but still: Klance?! Really?! The TA clears her throat and says, quite loudly, like this is the second time she’s said this: “Please put your phones away.” Lance quickly stuffs his phone into his pocket when some of the people around him give him the stink eye.

This is all for a greater cause. Or something. Stepping out of his comfort zone. He thinks of Keith’s unexpected patience and breathes a little easier.

 

\--

“So you guys _are_ \--”

“No Hunk,” Lance says, burrowing further into his covers. After the quiz, he’d gone straight home, washed up, and was _about_ to nap for a few hours, but then Hunk had called him and said he was coming over. _No rest for the weary_ , Lance thinks sadly to himself. He also still has to finish editing his history midterm and do some last minute cramming for the o-chem exam tomorrow.

“Then why--”

“I just did, okay?”

Hunk makes an annoyed noise. “Stop interrupting me. And that’s not an answer.”

“Pidge told me to step outside of my comfort zone,” Lance says. “So I uploaded the video.”

“....I’m _pretty_ sure they meant for you to _confess_ , dummy.”

“Yeah, well. Next time. Oh my God, Hunk, let me sleep,” Lance gripes when Hunk makes a gasping noise at _next time_.

“Dude, Shiro texted me and asked if you and Keith were dating now, since you never answered him. I told him not yet, even though I wasn’t really sure, but I’m glad I was right.”

“Hunk. _Hunk_. I just want to sleep right now and then submit my history midterm and then study for o-chem.” Lance looks up from where he had buried his head under the pillow. “Besides, Keith is… he’s not…” The slow, shit-eating grin spreading on Hunk’s face makes Lance groan and bury his head under his pillow again.

“What about Keith?”

“He _knows_ , I’m pretty sure,” Lance says, glad that Hunk can’t see the blush spreading up his neck. “We just haven’t said anything about it? I don’t know, man, shit is so complicated.”

“It’s literally the _least_ complicated thing about your relationship,” Hunk snorts. “You don’t even have to say anything, I bet. You just have to stare at each other and smile your weird little smiles and then seal it with a kiss.”

Lance laughs into his sheets. “Wow, Hunk. Is that all we have to do?”

“Uh, yeah. I bet that if you do say something, you’ll turn it into some dumb competition and then you guys will never get anywhere.”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence.” Although, in retrospect, Lance does seem to lose his ability to speak coherently around Keith whenever ~feelings~ are involved. He hasn’t even replied to Keith’s text yet. Kind of a dick move, he’ll admit, but every time Lance tries to think of a response, he has the urge to bang his head against the wall. He keeps telling himself not to overthink everything, though that’s a lot easier said than done.

Lance reluctantly hands Hunk his phone and tells him about his dilemma. He knows how shitty it feels for your text to go ignored. Hunk hums thoughtfully, peering at the text like a psychic trying to divine truth from a crystal ball.

“How would you reply if I sent that? Or Pidge?”

“We’re too cute for the general public to handle,” Lance immediately replies, and then, “I am _not_ sending that--HUNK WHAT ARE YOU DOING??”

“Sent!” Hunk grins and tosses the phone back to him. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh my God, you _fucker_ , I trusted you--” Lance’s phone buzzes with Keith’s response, and he shrieks, throwing it back at Hunk. “I don’t want to read it!!”

“And this is why I said you’re never going to get anywhere.” Hunk sighs, shaking his head. He opens the text, and the silence that follows digs into Lance’s chest so much that he lunges out of his bed and grabs the phone. Hunk just chuckles.

805-616-XXXX

_seems like it. the comments kind of scare me? what do “ship” and OTP mean??_

It’s… such a normal and Keith-like response that Lance laughs a little hysterically. It’s not like everything is suddenly different, Lance slowly realizes. Why should Lance act as if Keith is a stranger after all this? Their relationship is essentially the same, regardless of any new facets--he is still Lance, and Keith is still Keith. He had known that on a base level, but now it’s staring him in the face.

 _shipping is like… wanting two ppl tgthr?? and otp means one true pairing lmao,_ Lance replies, because that’s how he would respond under any other circumstances. Stop overthinking things. Step out of your comfort zone. Taking a deep breath, he sends another text:

818-315-XXXX

 _u wanna do one last study sesh for o-chem?? if i die trying 2 memorize this shit i need a witness_    

805-616-XXXX

_that makes sense. how come all our fans are weird……_

805-616-XXXX

_And yeah im down to study. i get off work at 5ish_

818-315-XXXX

 _perf i’ll be done with my history midterm by then. see u then!! have a nice day at work여보_ ☆♥☆

805-616-XXXX

_i am BANNING you from typing or speaking korean ever again_

818-315-XXXX

( ˘ ³˘)♥

When he looks up, Hunk is grinning at him so wide that _Lance’s_ face hurts--oh, wait, that’s just because Lance is smiling like an idiot, too.

“I am so far gone,” Lance says.

Hunk goes to sit next to Lance on the bed and hugs him to his side. “You really are. Proud of you!”

Lance buries his face in Hunk’s shoulder. “Shut up, Hunk. I’m going to kick you out now, so I can _sleep_.”

 

\--

 

 _on my way_ , Lance reads for the fourth time. Keith had sent that twenty minutes ago, and he still hasn’t shown up. It’s about a ten minute stroll from the science building to the dorms--even faster for Keith, who power walks everywhere. Maybe something happened in the lab? Twisting his mouth to the side, Lance decides he might as well grab some snacks from the student lounge.

He swings the door open and freezes. “...Keith?”

Indeed, Keith is standing outside his room, and Lance might have thought this all a coincidence--that Keith just _happened_ to arrive at the precise moment Lance opened the door--but the slightly panicked look on Keith’s face tells him otherwise. His hair is all mussed, and his normally sloppily-buttoned shirt is fastened to the very top, like he had nervously run his hands through his hair while constantly adjusting his collar. Most of Lance feels relief at not actually being the only one who’s a little apprehensive; the other, smaller parts immediately want to poke fun at Keith’s appearance. He holds onto that particular feeling and allows it to stabilize him.

“Finally decided to show your face, eh?” Lance says snidely, watching the lines of tension drain from Keith’s shoulders.

“Sorry, I was busy contributing to society,” Keith replies and raises his eyebrows, challenging.

Lance adopts a haughty expression. “Whatever helps you feel better about your plebeian job.” At that, Keith finally cracks a smile.

“‘Plebeian’? I’m impressed that you even know what that word means.”

“ _Please_ , I got a higher SAT score than you did!”

“By _ten points_.”

“Still higher.”

Oh man, Hunk was right. The more they talk, the more they try to one-up each other. And while Lance _loves_ getting on Keith’s nerves, they do actually need to talk like rational adults. Keith seems to come to the same conclusion, because he lets out a long exhale and doesn’t continue the argument like he usually would have.

“I was gonna get snacks,” Lance says after a few beats of silence.

Keith holds up a plastic bag that had somehow escaped Lance’s attention. “Way ahead of you.”

“Keith!” Lance mock gasps, clutching at his heart with both hands. “What would I do without you.”     

“Suffer?” Keith guesses. And, well, he’s not wrong. Not that Lance is going to tell him that.

They settle on the floor, Lance lying on his back, Keith sitting cross legged and leaning against Lance’s bed. Frowning at his notebook, Lance reads out the sequence rule for alkene configuration assignments. Why is organic chemistry so goddamn complicated.

“O-chem can suck my dick,” he says sadly. Keith snorts and doesn’t dignify that with a response. For some reason, it makes him think of Keith’s _That’s not the only thing that would be faster with two hands_ , and he drops his notebook on his face, suddenly embarrassed and very conscious of the fact that they are alone in his room. _Stop! Over! Thinking!_ he yells at himself. They have been alone together more times than Lance can count. This isn’t anything different. They’re studying stereoisomers, for Christ’s sake--this is like, the least sexy thing to be studying together. That doesn’t stop Lance’s imagination from taking a turn for the worse, though. Now that the potential for Sexy Times is definitely there, Lance’s brain seems to have reverted back to its hormone-riddled fourteen-year-old state.

“We haven’t even kissed yet, you idiot,” he hisses into the notebook paper. _Yet_. God, he’s just digging his own grave.     

“Did you say something?”

“I’m praying for a swift and gentle death.”

“You can do that tomorrow, after you pass the midterm.”

“I’m glad one of us believes in me.” Lance still hasn’t taken the notebook off of his face. The pages are nice and cool against his cheeks. He hears Keith sigh and shuffle over the carpet before the notebook is suddenly replaced by a view of the ceiling, and then by a view of Keith’s exasperated face. As annoyed as Keith looks, Lance can’t help but appreciate the curve of his neck, the way his stupidly long eyelashes brush against his cheek when he blinks.

“You’re going to pass,” Keith says, staring down at him. “You’re not going to let this exam ruin your--” and here he makes a pained face, like he’s swallowed something particularly sour, “--4.0 GPA.” (Keith had made the mistake of taking calc 2 over the summer--with Dr. _Zarkon_ \--and he’s been salty ever since.)  

“No, I’m gonna be a sheep herder in Iceland,” Lance mumbles, a little distracted by Keith’s slight pout. Narrowing his eyes, Keith whaps Lance’s chest with the notebook.

“Stop being annoying.”

“Impossible, sorry.”

“ _Lance._ ”

Lance flutters his eyelashes and ignores how his heart is trying its absolute best to beat its way out of his chest. How come he can never say the things that actually matter? “That’s me!”

“ _You_ are impossible.”

“You love me,” Lance jokes, without really thinking. He waits for Keith’s usual response (“I would sell you to Satan for one corn chip.”), but Keith just looks down at him, suddenly still. Oh, shit. Lance swallows, mouth drier than Pidge when they’re in one of their moods, and watches the way Keith’s eyes travel from his lips to his throat. Oh, _shit_. The coward in him wants to break eye contact, but he’s pinned in place by an atmosphere heavy with all the things they’ve never said.

“Maybe I do,” Keith finally says, and it sounds like he’s aiming for nonchalance but his voice hitches and oh God, Lance is really going to die. “What are you going to do about it?”         

There’s no way Keith can’t see how red Lance’s face is. _What_ are _you going to do about it, Espinosa?_ If Lance were a suave Hollywood love interest, this would be the part where he’d cradle Keith’s face in his hands and kiss the shit out of him. Unfortunately, Lance is just Lance so all he does is grip Keith’s arm and hope Keith can read his mind.

Keith’s face softens, losing all its previous hesitation; he leans down, touching their foreheads together, and it is so devastatingly intimate that Lance has to close his eyes. They’re not even _kissing_ , but Lance’s whole body is on fire, like his blood has turned to magma and it’s burning up all his insides.

“You’re so red,” Keith whispers. His breath tickles Lance’s chin. Lance tries not to whimper.

“Of course I am?!” Lance manages to croak out and makes the mistake of opening his eyes. Up close, the way Keith looks at him is actually heart-wrenching. Oh, Jesus God help him. This is it. This is how he will die. “I like you so much?” Lance blurts out in the same helpless way as last night.

When Keith’s voice cracks asking “Can I kiss you?”, Lance threads his fingers through Keith’s hair and presses their mouths together. The angle is a little awkward and it’s not the most perfect kiss Lance has ever experienced, but it’s definitely the _best_.

 

\--   

 

Two weeks later, a new video is uploaded and the usual slew of comments roll in:

_Keith’s jokes are SO dumb but so funny, I don’t understand._

_AHHH LOOK AT HOW THEY STARE AT EACH OTHER_

_They seem different, somehow??? Still hilarious, tho!_

_notif squad where you at?! did y’all see how lance touched the back of keith’s neck at 4:42??? and the way keith smiled at him?!?!?!?! Y’ALL!!!!_

_klance is real and god is real_

_I was a doubter but now i’m a believer…. Also lance that is NOT how you julienne a carrot…._

The most highly rated comment, however, is a simple _;) <3 _, made by a tiny vlogging channel titled TheLancer.

 

\--

 

“I hope you guys aren’t sexting,” Pidges says colorlessly. Lance stops giggling to himself to shoot them a mock-offended glare.

“I would  _never_ ,” he says earnestly. They’ve just finished filming the eighth episode, and Hunk and Keith are attempting to clean up after losing--quite badly--at rock, paper, scissors. _Attempting_ because Keith keeps getting distracted by the snapchats Lance sends him and Hunk keeps trying to take his phone away.

“Lance, stop distracting Keith,” Hunk exclaims for the third time.

“I’m _not_.”

“Yes, you are. What do you want? And why is your Korean so bad? I taught you better than this,” Keith says as he clutches his phone to his chest, a touch petulant. The wine has yet to completely wear off.

Lance ignores them and takes another picture of himself once Keith has gone back to playing keep away with Hunk. He closes his eyes, pursing his lips slightly, like he’s genuinely about to kiss someone, then types in a caption that makes him dissolve into snickers.

Without looking up from their laptop, Pidge aims a kick at Lance’s ribs. “ _Stop sexting._ ”

“Ow! I’m _not_!”

Five minutes later, he hears Keith choke, and he looks over at the kitchen. Cheeks flushed, Keith stares down at his phone, then flicks his gaze back up at Lance, then goes back to staring at his phone.

Lance’s phone dings with a notification: _Keith took a screenshot!_ The stupid grin on his face makes Pidge fake-gag.  

“Stop sending Keith dick pics.”

“What--I’m not sending dick pics!”

“You’re sending pictures of yourself, aren’t you?” Pidge smirks.

“ _Oooooooh_. Savage,” Hunk calls from where he’s washing the dishes, having given up on roping Keith into helping him.

“Keith, Pidge is being mean to me,” Lance whines as Keith makes his way over. Holding his arms out, Lance stares at Keith pleadingly, but Keith just crosses _his_ arms and lifts his leg so he can press his foot against Lance’s chest.

“You’re gross. Your puns are worse than mine,” he says.

“Ooh. Someone’s flexible,” Lance says suggestively and Keith retracts his foot so fast, he nearly falls over.

“This is so kinky,” Pidge comments lightly. “I liked it better in freshman year when all you guys did was make eyes at each other and drown in your denial. What did you even send, Lance?”

Lance looks at Keith and leans forward, tapping his lips. Keith can roll his eyes all he wants, but he’s doing a terrible job at hiding his smile--so terrible a job that Pidge throws their hands up in defeat.

“Just kiss him already, Keith. Put us all out of our misery.”

“Yeah, _Kiseu_ ,” Lance sings, and to his delight, Keith blushes again.

“If I do, will you stop sending me things in terrible Korean?” he asks darkly, as if he isn’t adorably pink right now.

“No promises. Anyway, you think it’s charming.”

“You guys are _so gross_ ,” Pidge interrupts. They slam their laptop shut and slip off the couch to join Hunk in the kitchen.

Hunk laughs and hands Pidge a sponge, which they stare at forlornly. “I think they’re cute!”

“Hunk is the true MVP,” Lance says loudly, and then to Keith, “I know you’ll need something to tide you over when you go to grad school, but don’t worry, there are a lot more where that came from.” He keeps his voice cocky to disguise how stupidly happy he is, but Keith smiles at him anyway. Oh man, Lance will never, ever get tired of seeing that.

“Idiot,” Keith snorts, _finally_ leaning down, placing his hands on Lance’s shoulders.

“But I’m _your_ idiot!”

“Are you?”

Lance stares openly at Keith’s mouth because _he can do that now_. “Yeah.”

“Prove it.”

“Make me.”

“Oh my God!” Pidge yells. “You guys are so--just kiss already!”

Lance laughs, closes the gap between them, and does just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 키스 - Keith (Kiseu) written in hangeul. It's also how kiss is written in hangeul LMAO lance couldn't pass up such a perfect opportunity.....  
> 여보 - sweetheart/honey (yeobo)  
> 키스주세용 (from Lance's snap) - can be read either as "please give me a kiss" or "please give me a keith" (kiseu juseyong) hahahahah sorry i Love puns
> 
> this is so PG lol sorry 2 anyone who wanted something steamier but i am incapable of writing anything more than like.....a peck........... anyway thank u for all the nice comments!! they kept me going. this was actually supposed to end much earlier but klance kept tripping me up.......... i can't believe how fucking long this is oh m y god.
> 
> ALSO!!! thank u to [spaceboyfriendd @ tumblr](http://spaceboyfriendd.tumblr.com/post/153455486335/he-is-my-husband) for letting me use his art n___n if u aren't already following him, pls do, his stuff is sO CUTE


End file.
